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BABY 




No.. )i 



NEW YORK : 

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY, 

900 BROADWAY, COR. 20th ST. 



[till 



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COPYRIGHT, 1878, BY 

Anson D. F. Randolph & Company. 



CONTENTS 



THE BABY, ----------- 5 

A BABY RHYME, - J 

ABOVE ALL PRICE, ------- to 

WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? 12 

BABYLAND, --------14 

THE BABIE, - - - -■- - - - 1 6 

ALL MOTHER, --------17 

BABY LOUISE, --------18 

A PICTURE, -- 20 

LULU'S COMPLAINT, 22 

BABY'S BED, 24 

COUNTING BABY'S TOES, 25 

CRADLE SONG, 26 

CRADLE SONG, -------- 28 

A SONG TO BRING SLEEP, 30 



CONTENTS. 

CRADLE SONG, -------- 33 

BABY ASLEEP, -------- 35 

A SLEEPING CHILD, ------- 37 

HUMAN BLOSSOMS, -------38 

"SWEET AND LOW," - - - - - - - 39 

A NURSERY SONG, - , - - - 40 

BABY FINGERS, - - - - - - - - - 4 2 

THE NEW ARRIVAL, ------- 43 

A MOTHER SHOWING THE PORTRAIT OF HER CHILD, 45 



THE BABY. 

Another little wave 

Upon the sea of life ; 
A nother soul to save 

Amid its toil and strife. 

Two more little feet 

To walk the dusty road ; 

To choose where two paths meet, 
The narrow, or the broad. 

Two more little hands 
To work for good or ill ; 

Two more little eyes, 
Another little will. 

A nother heart to love, 

Receiving love again / 
A nd so the baby came 

A thing of joy and pain. 



BABY. 



A BABY RHYME. 

So new the skies, so new the bliss 

Of baby fingers tender — 
A weight so warm upon the arm, 

A sleeping, breathing splendor ; 
O baby-bird ! sleep in thy nest, 
Dear, warm, wee bird, sleep in thy nest. 

Two hands clasped fast, two lids down cast. 

Eyes — (brown or blue, which, mother ?) 
A heart as white as flowers at night, 

Moon-kissed, that kissed each other ; 
Like birds at rest, so thou in nest 
Sleep, baby-bird, sleep in thy nest. 



BABY. 

So white the earth grew at thy birth 
(Thy tiny feet were whiter) — 

So light the fall of snow o'er all 
(Thy warm home-nest was lighter) ; 

O baby ! rest, in folded nest, 

And sleep, sweet bird, within such nest. 

But, baby dear, it is so queer, 
Sometimes this world is clouded 

And gray and gray, beneath the day, 
It looks like friar shrouded. 

But, little guest, sleep in thy nest, 

Nor know the rest — sleep in thy nest. 

And over thee, all warm I see 

Two tear-bright eyes bend fondly ; 
And folded fast, upon thee cast, 

Are kisses falling softly. 
Then, bird at rest, within thy nest, 
Sleep well, sleep well — sleep in the nest. 



Oh, tiny thing without a wing ! 
Oh, bird with song yet hidden 



A BABY RHYME. 

The guest with glee would welcome thee 

To life's feast later bidden ; 
And while the west calls day to rest, 
We say, dear bird, sleep in thy nest. 

— Selected. 



ABQVE ALL PRICE. 

How dear does mother hold 

Her bonny little one ? 
Just as dear as the jostling clovers 

Hold the merry sun. 

How hard would mother try 

To please her pretty lass ? 
Just as hard as the pattering showers 

Try to please the grass. 

How fair does mother think 

The darling at her breast ? 
Just as fair as the glad white sea-bird 

Thinks the wave's white crest. 

How long will mother's love 

For her treasure last ? 
Just as long as her heart keeps beating, 

Till her life be past. 



ABOVE ALL PRICE. 



How much will mother's love 

Change, as years are told ? 
Just as much as the mountain changes, 

Or the ocean old. 

EDGAR FAWCETT. 



WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? 

WHERE did you come from, baby dear ? 
Out of the everywhere into here. 

Where did you get your eyes so blue ? 
Out of the sky as I came through. 

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin ? 
Some of the starry spikes left in. 

Where did you get that little tear ? 
I found it waiting when I got here. 

What makes your forehead so smooth and high ? 
A soft hand stroked it as I went by. 

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose ? 
I saw something better than any one knows. 

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss ? 
Three angels gave me at once a kiss. 



WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? 

Where did you get this pearly ear ? 
God spoke, and it came out to hear. 

Where did you get those arms and hands ? 
Love made itself into hooks and bands. 

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things ? 
From the same box as the cherubs' wings. 

How did they all come just to be you ? 
God thought of me, and so I grew. 

But how did you come to us, you dear ? 
God thought of you, and so I am here. 

GEORGE MACDONALD. 
13 



BABYLAND. 

HOW many miles to Babyland ? 

Any one can tell ; 

Up one flight, 

To your right : 

Please to ring the bell. 

What can you see in Babyland ? 
Little folks in white ; 

Downy heads, 

Cradle beds, 
Faces pure and bright. 

What do they do in Babyland ? 

Dream and wake and play, 
Laugh and crow, 
Shout and grow, 

Jolly times have they. 

What do they say in Babyland ? 

Why, the oddest things ; 
14 



BABY LAND. 

Might as well 
Try to tell 
What a birdie sings. 

Who is queen in Babyland ? 
Mother, kind and sweet. 

And her love, 

Born above, 
Guides the little feet. 



15 



THE BABIE. 

Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes, 

Nae stockings on her feet ; 
Her supple ankles white as snaw 

Of early blossoms sweet. 

Her simple dress of sprinkled pink, 

Her double, dimpled chin; 
Her puckered lip and bonny mou', 

With nae ane tooth between. 

Her een sae like her mither's een, 

Twa gentle, liquid things ; 
Her face is like an angel's face — 

We're glad she has nae wings. 

HUGH MILLER. 
t6 



ALL MOTHER. 

If I had an eagle's wings, 

How grand to sail the sky ! 
But I should drop to the earth 
If I heard my baby cry. 
My baby — my darling, 
The wings may go, for me ! 

If I were a splendid queen, 

With a crown to keep in place, 
Would it do for a little wet mouth 
To rub all over my face ? 
My baby — my darling, 
The crown may go, for me. 

17 



BABY LOUISE. 

I'm in love with you, Baby Louise ! 
With your silken hair and your soft blue eyes, 
And the dreamy wisdom that in them lies, 
And the faint, sweet smile you brought from the skies ; 

God's sunshine, Baby Louise ! 

When you fold your hands, Baby Louise, 
Your hands, like a fairy's, so tin} 7 and fair, 
With a pretty, innocent, saint-like air, 
Are you trying to think of some angel-taught prayer 

You learned above, Baby Louise ? 

I'm in love with you, Baby Louise ! 
Why ! you never raise your beautiful head ! 
Some day, little one, your cheek will grow red 
With a flush of delight, to hear the words said, 

" I love you," Baby Louise. 
1 8 



BABY LOUISE. 

Do you hear me, Baby Louise ? 
I have sung your praises for nearly an hour, 
And your lashes keep drooping lower and lower, 
And you've gone to sleep like a weary flower, 

Ungrateful Baby Louise ! 

MARGARET EYTINGE. 
19 



A PICTURE. 

LITTLE waxen, dimpled hands, 

Pure as flakes of snow, 
Fluttering, with caressing wiles, 
Toward the sunshine or the smiles 

That reach her cradle low, 
Are the hands of Baby May — ■ 
Our Baby May. 

Soft, brown waves of silken hair 

Parted o'er her brow ; 
And a pair of violet eyes, 
Always full of pleased surprise, 

Or startled wonder now ; 
These are hair and eyes of May — • 
Our Baby May. 

Brow and neck, and cheeks and chin, 

Like lily petals fair ; 
Little ears like pearly shells, 
Lips like tinted honey-cells 



A PICTURE. 

Of half-oped flow'rets rare ; 
These are charms of Baby May — 
Our Baby May. 

Precious, darling little one, 

Naught on earths' so sweet ; 
Beautiful and perfect all. 
From her deep-fringed eyelid's fall 

To her dainty feet. 
Like all babies," some may say ; 

But, oh ! to us she's Baby May — 
Our Baby May. 

MRS. M. E. ROCKWELL. 



LULU'S COMPLAINT. 

Fs a poor 'ittle sorrowful baby, 
For B'idget is way down-stairs ; 

My titten has statched my finder, 
And Dolly won't say her p'ayers. 

I haint seen my bootiful mamma 

Since ever so Ion' ado ; 
An' I ain't her tunnin'est baby 

No londer, for B'idget said so. 

My ma's dot anoder new baby ; 

Dod dived it — He did — yes'erday, 
An' it kies, it kies, oh, so defful ! 

I wis' He would tate it away. 

I don't want no " sweet 'ittle sister ! ' 
I want my dood mamma, I do ; 

I want her to tiss me, an' tiss me, 
An' tall me her p'ecious Lulu ! 

22 



LULU'S COMPLAINT. 

I dess my bid papa will b'in me 
A 'ittle dood titten some day. 

Here's nurse wid my mamma's new baby, 
I wis' s'e would tate it way. 

Oh, oh, what tunnin' yed finders ! 

It sees me yite out o' its eyes ! 
I dess we will teep it, and dive it 

Some tanny whenever it kies. 

I dess I will dive it my Dolly 

To play wid mos' every day ; 
And I dess, I dess — Say, B'idget, 

As' Dod not to tate it away. 

HESTER A. BENEDICT 
23 



BABY'S BED. 

Dainty and white is the little spread, 
Cool and smooth is the tiny bed, 
Curtained with nettings so airy and light 
Not a fly can hide himself from sight ; 
And there the baby shall sleep, sleep, sleep, 
While mother and angels their watch shall keep 
Mother and angels shall watch together 
All through the sultry summer weather. 

Fleeciest blankets shall make the spread, 
And downiest feathers the little bed 
Where baby, our darling, shall sweetly repose, 
Warm to the tips of her cunning wee toes ; 
When the wintry winds shall blow, blow, blow, 
And all the world be white with snow, . 
Mother and angels still watch together 
All through the frosty winter weather. 
24 



COUNTING BABY'S TOES. 

DEAR little bare feet, 

Dimpled and white, 
In your long night-gown 

Wrapped for the night, 
Come, let me count all 

Your queer little toes, 
Pink as the heart 

Of a shell or a rose. 

One is a lady 

That sits in the sun ; 
Two is a baby 

And three is a nun ; 
Four is a lily 

With innocent breast, 
And five is a birdie 

Asleep on her nest. 

25 



CRADLE SONG. 

Buttercups and daisies, 

Buttercups and daisies, 
Shining in the meadow where the strawberries grow, 

Lifting sunny faces 

From their happy places ; 
Giving to us greetings, as we gayly go, 

By the shining river, 

With its waves aquiver, 
You and I, my daisy, sweetest that I know ! 

And its oh, ho, and heigh-ho ! 
Bobolink and I where the strawberries grow ; 

And its oh, ho, heigh-ho ! 
Down among the buttercups, singing as we go. 

Butterflies and humming-birds, 
Butterflies and humming-birds, 
Sipping all the honey from the blossoms sweet. 
All the breezes laden, 
In the land of Aiden, 
26 



CRADLE SONG. 

Shaking out their web of sweets at my darling's feet ! 

And to all their ringing, 

And to all their singing, 
Little dainty daisy, how our pulses beat ! 

And its oh, ho, and heigh-ho ! 
Bobolink and I where the strawberries grow ; 

And its oh, ho, heigh-ho ! 
Down among the buttercups, singing as we go. 

HESTER A. BENEDICT. 
27 



CRADLE SONG. 

A MOTHER sang beside her little child, 

Who, knowing not the meaning of the strain, 

Still gazed on her with eyes wide-open mild, 
And listened pleased with cadence and refrain. 

" Only the pure in heart see God." 
Those were the words the singing mother said, 
As in the firelight laughing baby played. 

From day to day this was her household hymn, 
As shadows of the evening gathered there, 

As through the twilight showed the homestead dim. 
Her song, wing-like, did seem to cleave the air— 

" Only the pure in heart see God." 
It floated up to some far altar-place, 
Where spirits gaze for aye upon God's face. 

The mother's spirit passed into the boy, 
Grafting upon his soul her cradle words. 

As old birds teach their offspring to employ 
Their tuneful throats to imitate the birds — 

28 



CRADLE SONG. 

" Only the pure in heart see God." 
As thrushes teach their young the thrush's lays, 
She taught her deathless one a hymn of praise. 

It bore its peaceful harvest to the child ; 

In all the thoughtful after-years of life, 
Often stilled the raging unrest wild 

That frets the spirit in our worldly strife — 
" Only the pure in heart see God." 

It sometimes gave the wounded spirit rest, 

When heavily with many cares oppressed. 



It ran for aye a cool life-giving rill, 

Sparkling and sweet and hidden in the heart, 

And sometimes seemed to overflow and fill 

His life ; sometimes in light it seemed to roll — 

" Only the pure in heart see God." 
A stream of brightness from a high, far throne, 
Whose haunting beauty was for him alone. 

FLORA MARCIAN. 
29 



A SONG TO BRING SLEEP. 


TWO little eyes, 


Two little lips, 


Two little hands, 


Two little feet : 


What shall we ask for them all ? 


Two little eyes, 


Blue, blue. 


Blue as the azure deep of the skies — 


Now so roguish — now wondrous wise, 


Solemn and funny, all in a twink, 


Changing and changing with every wink : 


What shall we ask for these little eyes ? 


Open them, Lord, 


To see in Thy Word 


Wondrous things ; 


Light them with love, 


And shade them above 


With angels' wings. 


30 



A SONG TO BRING SLEEP. 

Two little lips, 

Red, red, 
Red as the flamy coral tips. 
Sweet as the rose the wild bee sips, 
Singing and prattling all day long, 
And kissing and coaxing with witchery strong 
What shall we ask for these little lips ? 

From thine altar, Lord, above, 
Touch those lips with fire of love ; 

Pure, pure let them be, 
Speaking holy melodies 
Out of a holy heart that rise 

Warm, bright, up to Thee ! 

Two little hands ! 

Busy, busy, 
Busy as bird, and busy as bee, 
Gathering " funny things " for me, 
Weaving webs, and " building a house 
Just the size of a wee, wee mouse :" 

What shall we ask for these little hands ? 

Lord, with wisdom filled, 
Teach these hands to build 

31 



BABY. 

Thine own temple ; 
Let them skillful be, — 
Cunning to work for Thee 

By Thine example. 

Two little feet ! 

Nimble, nimble. 
Trot-foot and Light-foot, oh, what a pair ! 
Now here, now there, now everywhere ; 
Running of errands, dancing in glee, 
Skipping and jumping merrily ! 

What shall we ask for these little feet ? 

Lead them a blessed pilgrimage 

From childhood through to saintly age, 

Dear Lord, we pray ; 
Hold them a light in the dim dark night, 
And out of the narrow path of the right 

Ne'er let them stray ! 

Two little eyes — closed ! 
Two little lips — shut ! 
Two little hands — clasped ! 
Two little feet— still ! 
God give my darling pleasant dreams ! 
32 



CRADLE SONG. 

[From the German.] 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
Thy father's watching the sheep, 
TJhy mother's shaking the dreamland tree, 
And down drops a little dream for thee. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
The large stars are the sheep, 
The little stars are the lambs, I guess, 
The bright moon is the shepherdess. 

Sleep, baby, sleep. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
And cry not like a sheep. 
Else the sheep-dog will bark and whine 
And bite this naughty child of mine. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

33 



BABY. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
Thy Saviour loves His sheep ; 
He is the Lamb of God on high 
Who for our sakes came down to die. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
Away to tend the sheep, 
Away, thou sheep-dog fierce and wild, 
And do not harm my sleeping child. 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 

ELIZABETH PRENTISS. 
34 



BABY ASLEEP. 

Baby has gone to the land of dreams — 
Hush, or you'll wake him ! how still it seems ! 
Carefully shut the bedroom door, 
Noiselessly tip-toe across the floor. 
See how sweet he looks as he lies, 
With fringed lids shutting the dark brown eyes, 
One pink palm pressing the dimpled cheek, 
And his red lips parted as if to speak. 

Yonder, in the low rocking-chair, 
Is a broken plaything— he left it there ; 
And there in the corner beside the door 
Lies a motley heap of many more ; 
Jack-knife, picture-book, marbles, ball, 
Tailless monkey and headless doll, 
And new, bright pennies, his special joy, 
By the father hoarded to please his boy. 

There lie his shoes on the kitchen floor, 
That all day long they have pattered o'er — 

35 



BABY. 

Battered and chubby, short and wide, 

Worn at the toe and cracked at the side ; 

And there hangs the little dress he wore, 

Scarlet flannel and nothing more, 

But there clings about it a nameless charm, 

For the sleeves are creased by his dimpled arm. 



Dear little feet that are now so still, 
Will ye ever walk in the paths of ill ? 
Rosebud lips, will ye ever part, 
Bringing pain to a mother's heart ? 
Keep, O Father ! that baby brow 
Ever as pure from stain as now ! 
Lead him through life by Thy guiding hand 
Safely into the better land. 
36 



A SLEEPING CHILD. 

White lids pressing down 
O'er the tired eyes, 

In sleep's sweet embrace 
My darling lies. 

One little snowy hand 

Dimpling her cheek, 

Lips parted in a smile 

As if to speak. 

Wavy locks have stolen 

Gold from the sun ; 
There's nothing so beautiful 

As my sleeping one. 
God has pressed a kiss 

On the pale brow ; 
Angels weave bright dreams 

Over her now. 

37 



\ 



HUMAN BLOSSOMS. 

I ALMOST- think the angels, 
Who tread life's garden fair, 

Drop down the sweet wild blossoms 
That bloom around us there. 

It seems a breath from Heaven 
Round many a cradle lies, 

And every little baby 

Brings a message from the skies. 

33 



"SWEET AND LOW." 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea, 
Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind of the western sea ! 
Over the rolling waters go, 
Come from the dying moon, and blow, 

Blow him again to me, 
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 



Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 
Father will come to thee soon ; 

Rest, rest, on mother's breast, 
Father will come to thee soon ; 

Father will come to his babe in the nest, 

Silver sails all out of the west 
Under the silver moon ; 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 
39 





A NURSERY SONG. 




ONE little black duck, 




One little gray, 




Six little white ducks 




Running out to play ; 


One 


white lady duck, motherly and trim, 


Eight little baby-ducks, bound for a swim. 




One little white duck 




Running from the water, 




One very fat duck — 




Pretty little daughter ; 


One 


very grave duck, swimming off alone, 


One 


little Avhite duck, standing on a stone. 




One little white duck, 




Holding up its wings, 




One little bobbing duck, 




Making water-rings ; 


One 


Little black duck, turning round its head, 


One big black duck — see ! he's gone to bed. 




40 



A A URSER Y SO.NG. 

One little white duck 

Walking by its mother : 
Look among the water-reeds, 
Maybe there's another. 
Not another anywhere ? surely you are blind ; 
Push away the grass, dear, ducks are hard to find. 

But I think my wee duck 

Is the nicest duck of all, 
He hasn't any feathers, 

And his mouth is sweet and small ; 
He runs with a light step and jumps upon my knee, 
And though he can not swim, he is very dear to me. 

One little lady duck, motherly and trim, 
Eight little baby ducks, bound for a swim ; 
One lazy black duck, taking quite a nap, 
One precious little duck, here on mother's lap. 

41 



BABY FINGERS. 

Tex little fat fingers so taper and neat ; 

Ten fat little fingers so rosy and sweet ! 

Eagerly reaching for all that comes near, 

Now poking your eyes out and pulling your hair, 

Soothing and patting with velvet-like touch, 

Then digging your cheek with a mischievous clutch ; 

Gently waving good-bye with infantile grace, 

Then dragging your bonnet down over your face. 

Beating pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, slow and sedate, 

Then tearing your book at a furious rate ; 

Gravely holding them out, like a king to be kissed, 

Then thumping the window with tightly closed fist ; 

Now lying asleep, all dimpled and warm, 

On the white cradle pillow secure from all harm. 

Oh, dear baby hands ! how much love you enfold 

In the weak, careless clasp of those fingers' soft hold ! 

Keep spotless, as now, through the world's evil ways, 

And bless with fond care our last weariful days. 

MRS. RICHARD GRANT WHITE. 
4 2 



THE NEW ARRIVAL. 

THERE came to port last Sunday night, 

The queerest little craft, 
Without an inch of rigging on — 

I looked, and looked, and laughed. 
It was so singular that she 

Should cross the unknown water, 
And moor herself right in my room — ■ 

My daughter, oh, my daughter ! 

Yet by these presents witness all, 

She's welcome fifty times, 
And comes consigned to Hope and Love, 

And common metre rhymes. 
She has no manifest but this, 

No flag floats o'er the water, 
She's too new for the British Lloyds — 

My daughter, oh, my daughter ! 

Ring out, wild bells — and tame ones too— 
Ring out the lover's moon, 

43 



BABY. 

Ring out the little worsted socks, 

Ring in the bib and spoon ; 
Ring out the muse, ring in the nurse, 

Ring in the milk and water ; 
Away with paper, pens, and ink — 

My daughter, oh. my daughter ! 

ANON. 
44 



A MOTHER SHOWING THE PORTRAIT OF 
HER CHILD. 

Living child, or pictured cherub, 

Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace ; 
And the mother, moving nearer, 

Looked it calmly in the face ; 
Then with slight and quiet gesture, 

And with lips that scarcely smiled, 
Said, "A portrait of my daughter 

When she was a child." 

Easy thought was hers to fathom, 

Nothing hard her glance to read, 
For it seemed to say, " No praises 

For this child I need ; 
If you see, I see far better. 

And I will not feign to care 
For a stranger's prompt assurance 

That the face is fair." 

Softly clasped and half extended, 
She her dimpled hands doth lay ; 

45 



BABY. 

So they doubtless placed them, saying, 
" Little one, you must not play." 

And while yet his work was growing, 
This the painter's hand hath shown, 

That the little heart was making 
Pictures of its own. 

Is it warm in that green valley, 

Vale of childhood, where you dwell ? 
Is it calm in that green valley 

Round whose bourns such great hills swell ? 
Are there giants in the valley — 

Giants leaving footprints yet ? 
Are there angels in the valley ? 

Tell me — I forget. 

Answer, answer, for the lilies, 

Little one, o'ertop you much, 
And the mealy gold within them 

You can scarcely reach to touch ; 
Oh, how far their aspect differs, 

Looking up and looking down ! 
You look up in that green valley — 

Valley of renown. 
46 



A MOTHER SHOWING HER CHILD'S PORTRAIT. 

Are there voices in the valley 

Lying near the heavenly gate ? 
When it opens, do the harp-strings, 

Touched within, reverberate ? 
When, like shooting-stars, the angels 

To your couch at nightfall go, 
Are their swift wings heard to rustle ? 

Tell me ! for you know. 

Yes, you know, and you are silent ; 

Not a word shall asking win ; 
Little mouth more sweet than rosebud, 

Fast it locks the secret in. 
Not a glimpse upon your present 

You unfold to glad my view ; 
Ah, what secrets of your future 

I could tell to you. 

Sunny present ! thus I read it, 
By remembrance of my past : — 

Its to-day and its to-morrow 

Are as lifetimes vague and vast ; 

And each face in that green valley 
Takes for you an aspect mild, 

47 



BABY. 

And each voice grows soft in saying, 
" Kiss me, little child ! " 

As a boon the kiss is granted : 

Baby mouth, your touch is sweet, 
Takes the love without the trouble 

From those lips that with it meet ; 
Gives the love, O, pure ! O, tender ! 

Of the valley where it grows, 
But the baby heart receiveth 

More than it bestows. 

JEAN INGELOW. 

48 





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